


Beneath a Foreign Moon

by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Harry Is Morally Questionable, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:35:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23702419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/pseuds/lq_traintracks
Summary: Harry visits Teddy in the middle of the night.
Relationships: Teddy Lupin/Harry Potter
Comments: 32
Kudos: 368





	Beneath a Foreign Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Just flexing my underused smut muscles here. And I think, with a quarantine on, I just wanted a couple of my favorite guys to get to touch each other! I warned for 'underage', but Teddy is 17 in this, which is not underage in the UK but is in other countries, so I erred on the side of caution there.

He Apparates into the dormitory in the middle of the night, and Teddy startles awake at the hushed pop. He’s a soft darkness beside the bed, a shadow within other shadows, so that Teddy questions his own wakefulness. But then he leans into Teddy’s waning Lumos, takes his glasses off, and sets them tenderly on the bedside table. When he looks at Teddy, his gaze unequivocal, Teddy goes rock hard in his pants.

Harry sits on the edge of his bed and lays his hand over Teddy’s bare stomach. He begins making soothing circles that have Teddy’s cock throbbing. Teddy relaxes back into his pillow, which is to say he’s not relaxed at all. He bites his lip as Harry’s hand moves slowly over his skin. The reassuring circles soon wander, become more exploratory, and Harry’s fingers brush over and through the turquoise hair that trails down into Teddy’s pyjama bottoms. It’s a sweet touch, caressing, and Teddy wants to purr from it, to stretch and expose more skin for him. Harry has this effect on him: One moment he’s asleep, and the next it’s like he’s been waiting for this touch for years.

Harry’s finger inserts itself underneath the waistband of Teddy’s bottoms, stretching the fabric and then letting it gently slap his skin. “Take them off.”

It’s usually like this, and the familiarity of things, the predictable order of events—though every time has different details: Harry has him stand up to undress; Harry pulls his bottoms down himself—makes Teddy’s breath go short. His cock aches.

Teddy hurries to obey, taking his pants down as well. When he’s naked, Harry looks at him, a patient gaze that travels his body, then he takes Teddy’s flushed-pink cock in his hand and strokes it.

Harry’s hands are always warm. They’re calloused from wandwork, from grasping a broom. Teddy’s nipples go hard from Harry’s touch on his cock. A desperate sound chokes off in his throat.

Teddy expects a ninety second event—the quick but satisfying rut of his cock into Harry’s tight fist. He’s been primed for this all day, and his body is more than ready. But Harry takes things at an agonisingly slow pace instead. He watches the jump of Teddy’s cock against his palm, closing loose fingers around the length and moving his hand on it as one would idly pull petals from a daisy. 

Teddy groans, and Harry doesn’t shush him. They are alone; Harry would never attempt this were they not. Though he could probably get away with it just fine; his privacy spells are second to none. But Teddy’s been given a private room for his last year at Hogwarts for a reason. For _this_ reason. For as spontaneous as Harry is by nature, this decision was calculated. The sheer audacity of it runs a thrill up Teddy’s spine.

Harry twists his fist but then goes back to an easy, languid tug that has Teddy pumping his hips up in frustration. Harry smiles. He cups Teddy’s bollocks—and Teddy spreads his legs for it, invites him lower. Harry’s other hand seeks the curl of hair over Teddy’s forehead. He tames it back off Teddy’s face.

“I’m going to take my time with you,” he says. 

And he proceeds to do just that.

  


* * *

  


Teddy’s been on the precipice for the better part of an hour. His eyes sting with sweat. He begs Harry for what he wants, what Harry has now made him need, but it’s not given to him.

On his hands and knees, Teddy waits, his head hanging down. Harry’s hands smooth over his buttocks. He’s gentle and unrushed. There’s an air of appreciation. Harry doesn’t have to grab in order to take.

“Hold yourself open,” Harry says. There’s a softness to the timbre of his voice that no one could ever mistake for anything but a strength so firm it requires little volume to see its bidding done.

Teddy lowers the side of his face to the pillows, reaches back, and pulls his arsecheeks apart.

As Harry sinks one lubed finger into him, Teddy whines. Harry eases in and out, making a low humming sound when Teddy’s hole clenches down on him once. Teddy’s hands shake, holding himself open for it. A bead of sweat drips slowly down over his face, following gravity.

“Harry…” Teddy cries quietly. _Two fingers, three, your cock, make me come…_ it’s all in the name. Truth be told, Teddy’s not sure who’s in his room right now; if it’s Harry, or if it’s Professor Potter. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. Harry is always his teacher.

Teddy arches into the penetration, moving on that one patient finger as much as Harry will allow. But soon, Harry pulls it out. Teddy chases that touch with a long, drawn-out moan.

“Shhh,” Harry admonishes, though it’s the sort one gives to a small child one’s attempting to soothe. He cradles Teddy’s ball sac, rolling it a little in his warm palm. Teddy cries into his pillow.

“On your back,” Harry says.

Teddy flips over, wiping his eyes of tears and sweat alike. Harry is a dark shape hovering over him, coalescing into the man he knows as he moves to straddle Teddy’s face, pulling his cock from his trousers.

“Get me hard enough to fuck you.”

He already is, but Teddy’s not about to debate the matter. Harry fits his cock between Teddy’s parting lips and cuts off the groan he makes. Harry watches Teddy’s eyes as he slowly fucks his mouth. It’s not that Harry is unaffected. But his reactions are so measured at this point that Teddy finds himself hunting for them, noticing the tightness of the skin around his eyes, the set of his mouth, if he plunges just a bit harder on the next thrust.

Teddy loves his taste, and Harry’s scent is clean, a bit musky; the thatch of pubic hair around his cock and balls clings to the woodsiness of whatever soap he uses. There is just the slightest bitterness as he leaks a little into Teddy’s mouth. Harry watches Teddy’s lips stretch around him, then cuts his gaze back to Teddy’s wide eyes. Teddy wants to touch the solidity of Harry’s body, to run his hands up his back, beneath his shirt and feel hot skin, the density of his muscles. But he stops himself. Because he also wants to feel powerless. Wants to _want_ and not quite have.

Harry pulls out. He takes himself just beneath the crown of his cock and traces Teddy’s lips with the tip. Teddy opens his mouth, silently begging, but Harry moves back, repositions Teddy’s legs and himself between.

He fits himself just inside and begins to push. Teddy feels forced open by it, but he refuses to transform to better accommodate Harry’s size. He likes how this feels… that it’s as much take as give. Teddy loses his breath as Harry bottoms out inside him.

The fuck is so slow it hurts. Teddy holds his legs open, as though to encourage Harry to fuck him more thoroughly, to burn them both up with it. But Harry is in no hurry. Which likely means he doesn’t plan on returning any time soon. Not like this. Not as this. Maybe they’ll even make it to Christmas and the Burrow, and he’ll be Teddy’s godfather then, not his Defense professor, and definitely not the man who shows up at his bedside at night and takes him. He’s making this last. It has to be for a reason. 

Harry takes his wrists and pins him to the bed, staring down into Teddy’s face like he wishes to divine him. Like Teddy’s countenance is but a crystal ball, cloudy one moment and clear for his every truth the next. Teddy can feel how hard Harry is inside. Teddy’s so aroused, he’s practically a puddle, his stomach and chest smeared shiny.

Harry’s hips roll smoothly, and his cock sheaths inside Teddy’s slick passage until Teddy’s eyes plead with him. Teddy’s lips open on the rhythm of his hot breaths. 

Harry’s face looks almost as it did earlier in the day, in class, when he was watching Teddy duel. Teddy had snuck looks over Harry’s way to find him observing with great interest, abandoning the few others that still worked to best their opponents.

“Easy,” Harry had said. Because just that one look had sent a flare through Teddy’s body, and his casts had become more erratic, more powerful but much less controlled.

Teddy had channelled that feeling into his wand, and he’d taken Lewis Gallagher down almost to his bare bones, until Lewis, from the floor, had called uncle, a fear tight in his eyes that Teddy hadn’t meant to put there.

Teddy had turned toward Harry, and seen the faint spark of something in his expression—before Harry had shuttered it away.

_“Read the second half of chapter sixteen,”_ he’d said, and with only a brief glance Teddy’s way had locked himself inside his office and away from prying eyes.

And now, he’s here. On top of Teddy. Inside Teddy. Fucking Teddy a little harder now at whatever he sees on Teddy’s face. His hands tighten around Teddy’s wrists, and Teddy’s pulse pounds against his grip. Teddy arches, his bare chest and hard nipples scraping against the rough cotton of Harry’s shirt. He wants to feel Harry’s hot skin covering him.

Harry lets go of his arms so he can grip Teddy’s hips and pull them flush. He goes deeper than deep. Teddy gasps, and then Harry’s hands are in his hair and his lips are covering Teddy’s, his tongue delving into his mouth.

It is only when they finally kiss that Harry’s control shifts, the coil of his magic loosening, prowling through his body, seeking exit, demanding a focus. Teddy is that focus. Harry thrusts on top of him, kissing Teddy until he cries, and Teddy is finally free to _touch_. His hands slip under Harry’s clothes, up his bare back, over bunched shoulder blades, down into his trousers, onto his arse; it works in his hands, and Teddy grabs onto it hard. They kiss like sentient beasts. Like they’ll never get enough.

Teddy unbuttons Harry’s shirt quickly, clumsily, to feel the warmth of his chest under his hands, the springy hair against his fingers. He wraps his arms around Harry and sighs his name into his mouth. He works his hips into the fuck, and his dick slides against Harry’s taut stomach until he comes. His shivering moans meet the air as Harry lifts his lips to watch. He fucks Teddy through it, long strokes of his cock inside making it last.

Teddy goes limp, a useless heap of flesh and sweat. His lips quirk tiredly. Because he knows what it will do, he says, “Teach me, Professor,” his words almost slur he’s so drunk on this, on Harry, on his own whiplash magic.

Harry pulls roughly out and flips Teddy over. He shoves back inside and fucks Teddy with resolute brutality, his angry breath hot at the shell of Teddy’s ear, his teeth finding it and scraping. Teddy’s cock jerks. Harry feels so good, going hard at his loosened arsehole. His belt jangles against Teddy’s hip. Teddy can only grasp the headboard slats and get fucked.

When Harry comes, it’s a release of all he holds tight, holds back. He moves against Teddy’s body, his forehead dropped to Teddy’s back. A gush of breath bathes Teddy’s skin. Harry pushes deep, his whole body quaking with the force of one last pulse. 

He only holds Teddy close for a short while, and Teddy relishes his weight, the press of his skin, the continued invasion of his cock while it’s still hard enough to stay up his arse… his heartbeat against Teddy’s back.

But then Harry rolls off, onto his back, with a sigh that signals a reining back in of that control. Nobody can Apparate inside Hogwarts. But Harry can, and it’s precisely because of this degree of control he exerts over magic, over himself. It’s with that power, that control, that he comes here, to Teddy’s bed—and lets himself lose it.

Teddy watches Harry come down from the transformation of orgasm. Harry tucks his cock away but leaves his belt unbuckled. His shirt remains open down his chest, because Teddy opened it, and Teddy feels momentarily just as powerful as the man next to him.

He moves with care not to disturb the liminal calm under which Harry allows himself to stay. Harry lets him draw close, lifts his arm when Teddy curls into his body, his hand gently stroking through Teddy’s hair as they lie there up against one another. Teddy touches Harry’s chest. It feels like more of a liberty than fucking does. It gets him a little hard again.

It’s over too fast, Harry displacing Teddy’s body with great tenderness as he moves to sit on the edge of the bed, a hard exhale leaving his lungs. He buttons his shirt, chin ducked. Teddy wants to run his hands over Harry’s back, to press his lips there and smell cotton, sex, himself still clinging to Harry’s body.

Do Harry’s lips tingle from kissing him? Or is he already forgetting how it felt… how desperately he wanted to?

It’s the weekend. They won’t have a class together for a couple days. Harry probably engineered this encounter so that would be the case... in order that he could reassemble his life around other things. He’ll have time to come down, to be shaped into his regular self again.

Teddy wishes he would stay, that they could sleep and wake together, shower together, laugh at how easily Teddy gets hard for him. Have tea. Share the paper.

He’ll see Harry from afar in the Great Hall. He’ll see him from the doorway of a classroom Monday morning, Teddy peeking in to watch Harry teach, the beauty and ease of it like an elixir. It will make him smile. It will make him remember the ache of being penetrated. He’ll bite his lip, take a deep breath, and move on.

He’ll go to Defense, Monday afternoon, and Harry will be his teacher, his mentor; he might even be a little bit his godfather, his friend. A few weeks down the road, he’ll be back here. He’ll undress Teddy and touch him, and he’ll make love to him like a man does with his lover, or he’ll fuck him to shreds of himself. Either way works for Teddy. 

But right now, he’s standing and fastening his belt. He won’t Apparate out of the room like he did to get in. He’ll leave through the door, because leaving isn’t a thing done in urgency. It’s as difficult as prying sweets out of a toddler’s hand. It’s like swimming the width of the channel.

Teddy, naked (because he will not make this any easier for Harry by dressing), rises up onto an elbow. “Goodnight, Harry.”

He’s Harry in this room. He’ll always be Harry with Teddy, everywhere, no matter what.

Harry turns to look at him, a hand on the doorknob. He sighs, something in it still a bit undone, something not fully under his control. “You can stop being so beautiful now.”

Teddy breathes into the smile this evokes. Harry returns it cautiously. Teddy never enhances his looks for Harry, and Harry knows it. Though Teddy can feel his hair blushing now, an intractable dazzling pink. The smile Harry wears is full of complications: fondness running up against guilt. Slowly, the expression evaporates from his face, and a small frown takes its place. “Teddy…”

“Goodnight, Harry,” Teddy says again, moving a thigh slowly against the sheets.

Harry’s gaze meets his. He blinks, and a soft breath moves through his chest. His throat flexes, and Teddy notices that he’s just beginning to need a shave.

“Goodnight,” Harry says. “Sleep well.”

Teddy watches him leave and then lies back down with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling, his body thrumming still from Harry’s touch. He runs a hand through his hair and then turns his face to the window where the curtain lets the moon peek through. He rolls over, wraps himself up in sheets that smell like the man he loves, and he breathes.


End file.
